The taliban living in each of us heads keeping us prisoners in our fanatism about how is what supposed to be; holding us back from any living out our awesomeweness;  against our nature and against any life support system; our pseudo governing yesterday had confessed,  that restructuring the abundant funds from the self-and-everyone-around-destruction department into self education about all marvelocity there is in us, would clean us up in nanosecond into  always remembering who we all are in endless total. 
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The taliban living in each of us heads

keeping us prisoners in our fanatism about how is what supposed to be;

holding us back from any living out our awesomeweness; 

against our nature and against any life support system;

our pseudo governing yesterday had confessed, 

that restructuring the abundant funds from the

self-and-everyone-around-destruction department

into self education

about all marvelocity there is in us,

would clean us up in nanosecond into 

always remembering who we all are

in endless total. 

Blind is my mind, why do I have eyes to deceive me. Vision was always there in abundance in a bone marrow of a tree. Lights play their pranks and giggle behind my ears.  Beyond the feeling is where we come alive, Under the water all storms are quiet and blissful,  Caressing every inch of our skin into a succulent chisel In hands of  Michelangelo’s/inas, sculpting any celestial body. No blindness can make us not sea. 
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Blind is my mind, why do I have eyes to deceive me.

Vision was always there in abundance in a bone marrow of a tree.

Lights play their pranks and giggle behind my ears. 

Beyond the feeling is where we come alive,

Under the water all storms are quiet and blissful, 

Caressing every inch of our skin into a succulent chisel

In hands of  Michelangelo’s/inas, sculpting any celestial body.

No blindness can make us not sea. 

Call me super sick, if this makes Your world more round. While I do what I want and Your ‘healthy’ is Your prison, You wonder why am I not taking it for free. Fine by me. I would rather be imprisoned, taken hostage by my heArt, than by Your definitions. Oh how I can live with that. We stand on equal ground and we can only compare freedoms with freedoms and prisons with prisons. You judge my visuals by Your reasons and I still let You be.
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Call me super sick, if this makes Your world more round.

While I do what I want and Your ‘healthy’ is Your prison,

You wonder why am I not taking it for free.

Fine by me. I would rather be imprisoned,

taken hostage by my heArt, than by Your definitions.

Oh how I can live with that.

We stand on equal ground and we can
only compare freedoms with freedoms and prisons with prisons.

You judge my visuals by Your reasons and I still let You be.
Life, lived or not, is priceless. Your being is priceless and all being around You is priceless. Our crippled, dysfunctional being and our lazy ignorance, our darkness and confusion, as well as our most genius, selfless seeming services - all of our ways are equally endless priceless spendings. What difference does it make all this about how much things cost if there is nothing living You can put a price on that would justify how much has to come together for the simplest appearing things to be, even such like fruit flies or mosquitos; and all is life, even most ‘dead’ seeming matter does never lack of life, from all seeing eye perspective. The labor of a mans and manessess beating heart is as priceless as any single smallest peace of stuff we assume as organic and have no idea who put it there for us, who tended, who tends Your crops this 80% of their being, that You are in every way insufficient to be tending. Who tends Your children, spouse, Your parents, nanas, teachers, friends and colleagues the 99% of time that You do not? The second You are not there.. You can never repay neither the village of the world that raised You up to enjoy the person that You are, nor You can repay the sun for shining. Don’t You care, child, for the price of things that are so precious priceless, and they all are. All our spendings are our ways of giving thanks for all we’ve got for ‘free’. Justification for celebrating participation in each others harvests. You don’t pay for the goods You get. All You do, is, You pay it forward out of grace that You are because of those, whose paying You reap since You were born; and You will keep paying forward when You are long gone. Enjoy Your bean counting couch as much as You want, and know, that whenever ready, You can get up and join the party appreciating all of the participation. We each are given to each other like hatches and hammers are given into the hands of an infant. We do not know the difference of bashing skulls, hatching hearts and crafting, especially of those that we do not know at all and have no businesses with, that might restrain our lumber/miner nature. Whatever You experience go hatch some wood, go build some houses, go mine some stones, make places warm and inviting; and You will see all the riches endlessly coming and living with You for as long as You keep crafting at least in the backs of Your mind. You have so much to craft before You anyhow delusively infest Yourself with desperation lice of how much You can’t afford sort. Waste Your love, waste Your craft, waste everything till You can see that all the greatest things are endlessly given for You to put together and to rejoice in feeling so accomplished. Don’t You waste a second trying to put a price on priceless stuff. You are not the one who is paying for the matter that is paid for, eternity in advance, since the world started to the day when it will start again. Just verb Your being making out every breath a manufactory of grace. All our ‘paying’, including with paper bills is nothing but ways to expression appreciation for our own and each others priceless craftings. Mamamia, oh how much I love to appreciate!!!  Yours very appreciative <3 
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Life, lived or not, is priceless. Your being is priceless and all being around You is priceless. Our crippled, dysfunctional being and our lazy ignorance, our darkness and confusion, as well as our most genius, selfless seeming services - all of our ways are equally endless priceless spendings. What difference does it make all this about how much things cost if there is nothing living You can put a price on that would justify how much has to come together for the simplest appearing things to be, even such like fruit flies or mosquitos; and all is life, even most ‘dead’ seeming matter does never lack of life, from all seeing eye perspective. The labor of a mans and manessess beating heart is as priceless as any single smallest peace of stuff we assume as organic and have no idea who put it there for us, who tended, who tends Your crops this 80% of their being, that You are in every way insufficient to be tending. Who tends Your children, spouse, Your parents, nanas, teachers, friends and colleagues the 99% of time that You do not? The second You are not there.. You can never repay neither the village of the world that raised You up to enjoy the person that You are, nor You can repay the sun for shining. Don’t You care, child, for the price of things that are so precious priceless, and they all are. All our spendings are our ways of giving thanks for all we’ve got for ‘free’. Justification for celebrating participation in each others harvests. You don’t pay for the goods You get. All You do, is, You pay it forward out of grace that You are because of those, whose paying You reap since You were born; and You will keep paying forward when You are long gone. Enjoy Your bean counting couch as much as You want, and know, that whenever ready, You can get up and join the party appreciating all of the participation. We each are given to each other like hatches and hammers are given into the hands of an infant. We do not know the difference of bashing skulls, hatching hearts and crafting, especially of those that we do not know at all and have no businesses with, that might restrain our lumber/miner nature. Whatever You experience go hatch some wood, go build some houses, go mine some stones, make places warm and inviting; and You will see all the riches endlessly coming and living with You for as long as You keep crafting at least in the backs of Your mind. You have so much to craft before You anyhow delusively infest Yourself with desperation lice of how much You can’t afford sort. Waste Your love, waste Your craft, waste everything till You can see that all the greatest things are endlessly given for You to put together and to rejoice in feeling so accomplished. Don’t You waste a second trying to put a price on priceless stuff. You are not the one who is paying for the matter that is paid for, eternity in advance, since the world started to the day when it will start again. Just verb Your being making out every breath a manufactory of grace. All our ‘paying’, including with paper bills is nothing but ways to expression appreciation for our own and each others priceless craftings. Mamamia, oh how much I love to appreciate!!! 

Yours very appreciative <3 

Youniverse does not envy

Universe gives me everything without me even knowing it and it always conditions me to breathe again. It leaves the space to be in too many ways to count. Opens at least 154 options, hidden or not but in my hands. And it does not consider me turning my back on my benefactor being ungrateful or so if I don’t turn to her personally, don’t consciously consistently nurture our relationship, it always gives and gives and gives most marvelous stuff and never asks anything back, but offers to love more and to marve more. The only one who can ever please is the universe, my dear, so I am in love and married to the universe.

In our microcosmos speaking, (but well, who draw the line?) imagine giving Your all to one special person, even Your life (as if one physical lifetime where such a thing - somebody=overnight dellusion), and this person going and enjoying the upgrades it suffered through Your offerings with someone else - oooh boooh booh baaah! what a shocker and a mean mean mean thing to do, right? But You ever thought how we share all the public goods with our chosen ones? and don’t even flinch, not to speak of any drowning in any guilt of being ungrateful or so.. So.. next time try something, try and play the almighty universe, that own it all and consists of the pleasure of marveling us in any imaginable desired recognition of our own allisness kind.  

The ones who say they do not understand a woman, are the ones who do not understand a man either and nothing very else. Above all, what would the understanding of something bring You, if You still cannot love Yourself, but You want to be loved by a woman or a man. First step towards understanding, is to love too much. You say You want to understand, but too afraid, You do not want to trade Your shallow heart for a black wisdom sucking hole. You have a hard time giving Yourself crumbs, so how would You feel worthy to feed a life.  
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The ones who say they do not understand a woman, are the ones who do not understand a man either and nothing very else.

Above all, what would the understanding of something bring You, if You still cannot love Yourself, but You want to be loved by a woman or a man.

First step towards understanding, is to love too much.

You say You want to understand, but too afraid, You do not want to trade Your shallow heart for a black wisdom sucking hole.

You have a hard time giving Yourself crumbs, so how would You feel worthy to feed a life.  

I don&#8217;t believe in greed, but I believe in scary endless emptiness and burning desire to fill it. I believe in hunger. I believe that there is no end for that. I believe that sometimes we fill that emptiness with empty things and get even more very scared and feel even more very empty. Then, there are those burning things that shine so bright. When we put some in our vast emptiness, they becomes our stars and we have something to marvel about. I believe that marveling is most organic way to become quenched despite how endless is our scary emptiness.
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I don’t believe in greed, but I believe in scary endless emptiness and burning desire to fill it.

I believe in hunger. I believe that there is no end for that.

I believe that sometimes we fill that emptiness with empty things and get even more very scared and feel even more very empty.

Then, there are those burning things that shine so bright. When we put some in our vast emptiness, they becomes our stars and we have something to marvel about.

I believe that marveling is most organic way to become quenched despite how endless is our scary emptiness.

Mothers Kind Of Love #1. Oh mother! What should I do with Your kind of love for me. The time without You and anything alike You, are times, when I feel safest and most me. I give credit to this toxic wall between us for keeping me safe and sound. Finally, I believe, that it does get better, having had years and miles from You apart.  Just a moment ago I freaked out, cause I noticed another of the things that You said in our rarest of encounters, how deep it was living under my skin. Oh God, Oh Lord! I washed myself in holly waters, got fluent in another tongues, just to erase that. What else should one do.   I pretend You are dead and it works for most times. Life then makes sense. I too came up with viewing things as if I were dead, to make some more sense of my life. But You still haunt me. I can lead a life of a dead person, I can convince myself of many things, but I can&#8217;t sell to myself Your love. I know You love me, and You did and do, as best as You could. But I don&#8217;t want to believe that that is love. I don&#8217;t wanna believe that so little should be so enough. It almost killed me, nearly starved me to death, Your kind of love, still keeps teaching me to die.     You was the first who raped me and convinced me that it is ok to be raped: &#8216;life happens&#8217; and in that matter it is better when I have nothing to say. You taught me, that being lied to was ok, especially from the nearest ones. Steeling and wrecking my own happiness, that I inherited from You. Oh mother. You wonder, why I keep my distance. Preferably forever. No matter how I stretch my imagination, over a decade now, I still can&#8217;t fit Your kind of love nowhere within me in. These endless spaces I created over lifetime are all too small. My heart, that I obsessively expand, still fails to love You more, it fails to overshadow the many nightmares You cause me. I have made peace and learned to live with this loyal company of desperate frustration, have made myself comfortable standing on abyss beneath me with a view at the dark emptiness. I don&#8217;t want to be light just to light up Your darkness. All the fairy tales, all &#8216;feel good&#8217; heroes stories, and all the holly books, the books of ancient wisdom - when in all of them You are the embodiment of all that shouldn&#8217;t be, I to this day don&#8217;t know where does it leave me.  My heart belongs to You, it is so used to You and I love You in a way only a stockholm syndrome can explain. The smallest beacon of Your being makes me aware of the roaring black hole that is nested in my heart. It has Your name on it and it seems that I am forever bound to live with it. So, please, please, keep Your distance, I am always on the edge. Who would have thought that mother could be such a handicap. Thanks to You, I will never get rid of that feeling and taste of being paralyzed. How can I explain, if I, myself, still can&#8217;t believe being a part of such a prank. Remember those times when I told You I hadn&#8217;t eaten anything in three days and had no money and no food. You didn&#8217;t even blink, but made more troubles for me and on top You screamed and You trashed me with words. Kinda meaning You care. I replayed this so many times in my mind and wondered, what would I have said to my child who has hard time connecting to me, who is out there in the world and is hungry and broke, having nothing to eat. Before I would have died from shame, I would have made sure that my baby doesn&#8217;t go hungry again, without bothering her for no matter how long. I would have sold my skin, if I needed to.  Remember, when I called You from a hospital emergency room, all terrified, and naively soooooo stupidly still hoped, that I can find a crumb of comfort in Your voice. What You did, was, hysterically battering me with Your words, You made me, in my worst hour, realize that I am so fucked up, so on my own.  When after zillion times of still standing tall, and still moving on, while world making no sense, and life having me so much under water, in a big big city on my own, figuring out life in a foreign language, with no social network at all, and no real back bone, I couldn&#8217;t take it, and while me crumbling down, a silly thought appeared to call You, just to hear Your voice&#8230; and You did it, what You did best: demolished me to dust of nothingness like no life could ever destroy me. Thank You for, now, I fuck life, cause nothing in the world can fuck me up like You did.   It makes no sense at all, why should You be in my life after all. You don&#8217;t know a real thing about me, You never knew my dreams or what mattered to me, while You always had Your act together of such a wonderful parent.  When I gathered my courage to tell You, a year and a half later, that I had cancer, and that certain foods, You brought me up with, are fatal to me, and asked You to support me only there, to not to consume it, while You were visiting - Your ideas of help were, to give drugs to an addict, to please the dying wishes. You never drank and You didn&#8217;t smoke, had a double degree and such a respectful appearance. Ok, You was a divorced, too young, single mom. You had many men. You are now married for a third time. You always were so deep in Your own victimization, that You were so disturbingly helpless in so many cases, when I needed only to hear the love in Your voice, in a way, that doesn&#8217;t require years experience in secret services kind of decoding. You still are helpless to notice, that I had died long ago and was walking dead in this body, reassembling something, You would never have access to again. I am so terrified to finish this life still burdened with this black hole, Your mere existence is nurturing and that I can never erase.  Oh, I know, no one I ever fucked, no amount of smokes, no deepest buzz, no drugs could ever numb me from feeling so dead to You. Tell me. No! I don&#8217;t even wanna hear it. What better answer could You give me, that I haven&#8217;t thousand times more tried to answer on my own. But how can You convince me, that You want to have me in Your life alive when all You ever were able to deal with, was a dead paralyzed me.   You know, thank You mother, because of You, I have true sense, how legit is the existence of parallel universes. You have me in Yours, I can see, but I tried everything, and still can&#8217;t manifest You here in mine.  I hate You for the fact that You are there for me to blame. Your sole existence causes me to look like victim, which I never am able to pull of. My hitler. Pathetic hitler, who had wild panther caged inside herself for much too long. I escaped. The end of part 1. 
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Mothers Kind Of Love #1.

Oh mother! What should I do with Your kind of love for me. The time without You and anything alike You, are times, when I feel safest and most me. I give credit to this toxic wall between us for keeping me safe and sound. Finally, I believe, that it does get better, having had years and miles from You apart. 

Just a moment ago I freaked out, cause I noticed another of the things that You said in our rarest of encounters, how deep it was living under my skin. Oh God, Oh Lord! I washed myself in holly waters, got fluent in another tongues, just to erase that. What else should one do.  

I pretend You are dead and it works for most times. Life then makes sense. I too came up with viewing things as if I were dead, to make some more sense of my life. But You still haunt me. I can lead a life of a dead person, I can convince myself of many things, but I can’t sell to myself Your love. I know You love me, and You did and do, as best as You could. But I don’t want to believe that that is love. I don’t wanna believe that so little should be so enough. It almost killed me, nearly starved me to death, Your kind of love, still keeps teaching me to die.    

You was the first who raped me and convinced me that it is ok to be raped: ‘life happens’ and in that matter it is better when I have nothing to say. You taught me, that being lied to was ok, especially from the nearest ones. Steeling and wrecking my own happiness, that I inherited from You. Oh mother. You wonder, why I keep my distance. Preferably forever. No matter how I stretch my imagination, over a decade now, I still can’t fit Your kind of love nowhere within me in. These endless spaces I created over lifetime are all too small. My heart, that I obsessively expand, still fails to love You more, it fails to overshadow the many nightmares You cause me.

I have made peace and learned to live with this loyal company of desperate frustration, have made myself comfortable standing on abyss beneath me with a view at the dark emptiness.

I don’t want to be light just to light up Your darkness. All the fairy tales, all ‘feel good’ heroes stories, and all the holly books, the books of ancient wisdom - when in all of them You are the embodiment of all that shouldn’t be, I to this day don’t know where does it leave me. 

My heart belongs to You, it is so used to You and I love You in a way only a stockholm syndrome can explain. The smallest beacon of Your being makes me aware of the roaring black hole that is nested in my heart. It has Your name on it and it seems that I am forever bound to live with it. So, please, please, keep Your distance, I am always on the edge. Who would have thought that mother could be such a handicap. Thanks to You, I will never get rid of that feeling and taste of being paralyzed. How can I explain, if I, myself, still can’t believe being a part of such a prank.

Remember those times when I told You I hadn’t eaten anything in three days and had no money and no food. You didn’t even blink, but made more troubles for me and on top You screamed and You trashed me with words. Kinda meaning You care.

I replayed this so many times in my mind and wondered, what would I have said to my child who has hard time connecting to me, who is out there in the world and is hungry and broke, having nothing to eat. Before I would have died from shame, I would have made sure that my baby doesn’t go hungry again, without bothering her for no matter how long. I would have sold my skin, if I needed to. 

Remember, when I called You from a hospital emergency room, all terrified, and naively soooooo stupidly still hoped, that I can find a crumb of comfort in Your voice. What You did, was, hysterically battering me with Your words, You made me, in my worst hour, realize that I am so fucked up, so on my own. 

When after zillion times of still standing tall, and still moving on, while world making no sense, and life having me so much under water, in a big big city on my own, figuring out life in a foreign language, with no social network at all, and no real back bone, I couldn’t take it, and while me crumbling down, a silly thought appeared to call You, just to hear Your voice… and You did it, what You did best: demolished me to dust of nothingness like no life could ever destroy me.

Thank You for, now, I fuck life, cause nothing in the world can fuck me up like You did.  

It makes no sense at all, why should You be in my life after all. You don’t know a real thing about me, You never knew my dreams or what mattered to me, while You always had Your act together of such a wonderful parent. 

When I gathered my courage to tell You, a year and a half later, that I had cancer, and that certain foods, You brought me up with, are fatal to me, and asked You to support me only there, to not to consume it, while You were visiting - Your ideas of help were, to give drugs to an addict, to please the dying wishes.

You never drank and You didn’t smoke, had a double degree and such a respectful appearance. Ok, You was a divorced, too young, single mom. You had many men. You are now married for a third time. You always were so deep in Your own victimization, that You were so disturbingly helpless in so many cases, when I needed only to hear the love in Your voice, in a way, that doesn’t require years experience in secret services kind of decoding. You still are helpless to notice, that I had died long ago and was walking dead in this body, reassembling something, You would never have access to again. I am so terrified to finish this life still burdened with this black hole, Your mere existence is nurturing and that I can never erase. 

Oh, I know, no one I ever fucked, no amount of smokes, no deepest buzz, no drugs could ever numb me from feeling so dead to You. Tell me. No! I don’t even wanna hear it. What better answer could You give me, that I haven’t thousand times more tried to answer on my own. But how can You convince me, that You want to have me in Your life alive when all You ever were able to deal with, was a dead paralyzed me.  

You know, thank You mother, because of You, I have true sense, how legit is the existence of parallel universes. You have me in Yours, I can see, but I tried everything, and still can’t manifest You here in mine. 

I hate You for the fact that You are there for me to blame. Your sole existence causes me to look like victim, which I never am able to pull of. My hitler. Pathetic hitler, who had wild panther caged inside herself for much too long. I escaped.

The end of part 1. 

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